


favors

by priorviolets



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Post-Time Skip, Sex Pollen, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priorviolets/pseuds/priorviolets
Summary: It feels intrusive, too intimate, and a little spike of shame pinches at Sylvain’s chest. “Do you want me to leave you alone? I can go, uh...sit in the bathtub or something.”“If you need to go,” Dimitri says, his voice far away. “I...certainly wouldn’t blame you.”“Most stubborn guy I know, really.” Sylvain steps forward, kneels at the bedside to look at him. “What do you need? Do you need me to go?”To his surprise, Dimitri relents and shakes his head. “No. Stay, please.” His voice is winded now, and he’s pressing his thighs together in a weak attempt to stave off what Sylvain knows is coming. “You know what happens. You can...talk me through it.”[Dimitri gets sex-pollened by some devious village girls. Luckily, Sylvain is there to help watch over him.]
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 332
Collections: Wank Week 2020





	favors

**Author's Note:**

> my first contribution to #fe3hwankweek2020! 
> 
> warning for nonconsensual sex pollen used by a nameless background character (with the intention of getting dimitri in her bed), but everything that goes down after that with sylvain is consensual. i also allude to sylvain's history of self-harming through sex with women. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

**favors**

* * *

This isn’t the first time that a flock of village girls has fawned over Dimitri—far from it. At this point, Sylvain has stopped combing his hair before they head out on their trips to whatever town has whatever thing they need, hasn’t even bothered polishing his armor or ironing out the folds in his tunics. It took some getting used to, but now there’s a comfortable anonymity in it: not being looked at, just occupying quiet space behind Dimitri as the girls eye him lustily from their market stalls, their giggles like chimes on the air as he smiles blankly in response to their double meanings. 

The guy is hopeless. Sylvain watches from a distance in amusement, leaning against a stone pillar as Dimitri leans down to let one of the girls say something into his ear; when he pulls away to look at her, he’s got that sweetly dumb look on his face, the one he gets when he’s trying to understand a salacious joke but can’t quite fill in the blanks. Sylvain can hardly blame the girls for being so charmed by it—it’s his personal favorite look of Dimitri’s, the one he’d use more if he was serious about landing a different warm body in his bed every night. It’d be as easy as breathing for a guy this handsome. 

_Nah, you’re too good for that,_ Sylvain thinks, both parts bitter and fond as the girl touches the ends of Dimitri’s long hair. _You’re not like some of us._

Now here comes the pleading look, the half-desperate search of Dimitri’s eye to find Sylvain in the crowd. He should probably help him out now, be a good guy and rescue him despite the comical display. Sylvain grins at him and gives an understanding wave of his hand, pushing off of the pillar to approach him. Relief flashes across Dimitri’s face, even as one of the girls beckons for him to come over to her stall. He’s too nice, so of course he does, and Sylvain watches as a clutch of bright flowers is pushed into his face. Dimitri laughs in that self-conscious way of his, as if the awkwardness is his fault and not the flustered shopkeeper's, and lets her show him another strange bouquet of dark purple flowers, their centers as pure white as bone— 

Sylvain stops cold. 

Ah. He’d know those blooms anywhere. 

“Shit,” he whispers, and rushes through the crowd, shouldering a man hard in the arm on accident as he passes by. He catches up to Dimitri’s side, and on instinct, throws his arms around him in a lover’s embrace. He feels Dimitri stiffen at the contact with a surprised little noise, but Sylvain holds on tight. “Go along with it,” he murmurs in his ear, then pulls away and kisses him on his burning cheek. “There you are! You always wander off when we’re out shopping together. Are you ready to go?” 

Dimitri blinks at him, stunned, but breathes out his best attempt at a normal laugh. “Uh—yes, my apologies. I’m ready if you are.” 

“Good!” Sylvain looks him over, doesn’t see a flush settling in yet. He’s got about ten minutes before this shit takes hold of him and knocks him flat—he can work with that, get him to an inn in time, _it’s okay._ He threads his arm through the crook of Dimitri’s and leads him away from the stall. “Come on, you.” 

“Is everything all right?” Dimitri asks quietly. 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it.” But Sylvain is casting an icy look over his shoulder, where he finds the woman’s face drained of blood, her eyes wide and mortified. _That’s right, I caught you, you sick little—_

“I was thinking we could spend a little time here,” he says, breaking his acidic train of thought before it spirals into darkness. “No need to bust our asses getting back to the monastery, you know?” 

Dimitri seems to mull that over, watching the ground carefully as he walks. A thin line of panic stretches down Sylvain’s sternum and strings it tight. _Please say yes. Please just say yes._

Finally, he nods, and there it is—a heaviness already starting to touch at the edges of Dimitri’s movements. He’s never been hit by this stuff before, the white centers of those wicked purple blooms that melt your body down to nothing.

But Sylvain has. Many times. His stomach churns at the memory: huffing them down in strangers’ bedrooms just to make his body cooperate, to hand himself over easily, to just be a sprawl of hot limbs beneath them while they took whatever they needed. 

“I could use some rest,” Dimitri yawns out into his fist. A pink flush is beginning to gather across the bridge of his nose. “I must not have slept well last night…” 

_Shit._ Sylvain walks a beat faster, grateful for their equally long legs carrying them into the little stone inn outside of the market square. He makes quick work out of buying a room, ignoring the coy look the innkeeper gives at Sylvain’s arm wrapped around Dimitri’s waist as they’re led to the bedroom. 

One bed. _Like something out of Ashe’s romance novels._

“You should take a nap,” he suggests, trying to keep his voice light and flippant as Dimitri blinks around the room. “A really long nap, actually. Like, maybe a good ten hours.” 

“Ten hours?” Dimitri asks, looking hazily at the bland furniture. “No, I don’t think I’ll be needing that…” There’s a fine shiver in his shoulders, and he pulls at the scarf around his neck until it falls loose onto the floor. The sight of his confusion sends a deep well of anger bubbling in Sylvain’s chest—he knows this feeling, knows the heat rising under Dimitri’s skin, the glossy shine over his eye as he tries to make sense of the simplest things. That viper, that damned woman— 

“Oh.” Dimitri’s voice is far away, his blink slow as he sways on his feet. “I’m…Sylvain, I—” 

Sylvain is there in a flash, catching him by the arm to steady him. “All right, big guy, I’ve got you,” he says, easing Dimitri to sit down on the bed’s edge. “You’re okay. You’re all good.” 

Dimitri stares off into space, a fine sheen of sweat gluing his shaggy hair to his forehead and cheeks. He pulls off his coat with frustrated hands, kicks off his boots. “I’m not…okay or ‘all good.’” 

Sylvain scrubs a hand down his face. “Okay, okay. You’re probably feeling a little weird right now. But—” _Shit. Shit._ “But it’s nothing to worry about, okay?”

Dimitri hangs his head low, breathes in shallow huffs through his parted lips. “ _What’s_ nothing to…” Then, it seems to dawn on him, and he looks up at Sylvain with humiliation plain on his face. “You’re serious.” 

Sylvain sighs as means of an answer. 

Dimitri holds his face in his hands and gives a mournful shake of his head. “The flowers? I thought they looked... _strange,_ but I didn’t think anything of it…” 

“Always think something of it,” Sylvain says, and can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You never know what those vipers are planning, any of them.” 

“Don’t be cruel.” 

“She _drugged_ you, Dima.” His voice comes out sharp, and Dimitri lowers his head like a dejected puppy. He takes a deep breath to center himself. “Look, I’ve taken that stuff before. I know what it does, how long it lasts, how you’ll feel after. I’m just glad I saw what happened in time.” 

Dimitri tugs at the neckline of his thick black sweater, then pulls it off over his head with a grunt. “This is humiliating,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t be...subjecting you to this mess.” 

“Wow,” Sylvain says with a mirthless laugh, “you’ll even blame yourself for this?” 

“If I had just—”

“Nope. Don’t even go there.” Sylvain gives him a stern look, but Dimitri looks so pathetic he can’t keep it up. His face softens. “Not your fault, okay? Don’t talk like that or you’ll start sounding like me.” 

The joke falls flat, and it’s Dimitri’s turn to look stern and fail. His eye flutters to a close, and he sits in a blushing slump for a few tense moments. Sylvain watches his broad shoulders rise and fall, his breath coming shallow, his hands gripping tightly at the covers. “Oh,” Dimitri breathes out, the barest hint of a moan ghosting through. “Oh, no…” 

“It’s okay,” Sylvain murmurs, still keeping his distance. “Just let it happen.” 

Dimitri gives a hopeless shake of his head. “I feel…” He gestures vaguely at his head. “Mentally I’m here. But—but my body is…” 

“Too hot? Like it weighs a thousand pounds?” 

Dimitri gives a heavy nod, all of him sagging and useless. 

“Yeah. Sounds about right.” Sylvain crosses his arms over his chest and surveys him. In spite of himself, the sight of Dimitri like this is fascinating—he can almost see the tension leaving those stony shoulders, his golden eyelashes fanning low, his serious mouth falling open in something new and soundless. 

It feels intrusive, too intimate, and a little spike of shame pinches at Sylvain’s chest. “Do you want me to leave you alone? I can go, uh...sit in the bathtub or something.” 

“If you need to go,” Dimitri says, his voice far away. “I...certainly wouldn’t blame you.” 

“Most stubborn guy I know, really.” Sylvain steps forward, kneels at the bedside to look at him. “What do _you_ need? Do you need me to go?” 

To his surprise, Dimitri relents and shakes his head. “No. Stay, please.” His voice is winded now, and he’s pressing his thighs together in a weak attempt to stave off what Sylvain knows is coming. “You know what happens. You can...talk me through it.” 

“I can do that,” Sylvain says, all the while wondering _can I do that? How in the hell do I do that?_

“I’m on fire.” Dimitri’s head lolls forward, and Sylvain’s stomach flips when his hands lower to his belt. “It—it aches…” 

“Don’t think about the heat.” There’s a weakness in Sylvain’s voice, and he’s momentarily glad for Dimitri’s fever making him unable to notice. “Think about cold things. The mountains back home. Snow on rooftops, things like that.” 

Dimitri manages a nod, but after a silence, his voice is agonized. “It isn’t helping.” 

“That’s okay.” Sylvain’s mouth is suddenly very dry as he watches Dimitri pull his belt open. “You can—think about the heat, if that helps. Whatever you want, Dima.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri says, frantic as he reaches for the waistband of his pants. “I need these off. May I?” 

In spite of the bizarre situation, or perhaps because of it, Sylvain laughs. “So polite. Go right ahead.” 

Dimitri sighs with relief and kicks out of his pants, flopping down onto the mattress on his back. With a hot startle in his blood, Sylvain trains his eyes away from the obvious tenting in Dimitri’s briefs, straining up so hard beneath the fabric that it looks painful. He isn’t sure whether to watch over him or look away as Dimitri writhes atop the covers, his chest heaving, the muscles of his stomach taut with tension as he shivers. “Sylvain,” he gasps out. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” 

“What are you feeling?” A wicked question; Sylvain knows exactly what Dimitri is feeling, can see it in every line of him begging for relief, has felt it for himself a thousand times over. But even still, for whatever reason, he wants to hear it. 

Dimitri opens his mouth to speak, but he screws his eye shut and lets out a strangled groan, his back arched as he tries to fight through it. 

“When I took it,” Sylvain starts, resting his chin on the edge of the mattress, “it was on purpose. And I took a lot more than you did.” 

Panting, Dimitri looks at him out the corner of his eye. “And what did you do?” 

Sylvain gives him a knowing look. “Come on, Dimitri.” 

Dimitri huffs out an annoyed breath and threads his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. He looks beautiful like this, wrecked and wanting and completely removed from his natural, stick-up-his-ass self. Warm golden hair spans down his belly, across his broad chest, along his scarred forearms, his thighs; it makes him look dangerously easy to nuzzle into, but Sylvain has an ironclad self-control, even if no one else knows it. 

“I’ll let you think on that,” Sylvain says, and gets to his feet to open the bathroom door. He finds a washrag and dips it in the basin, grateful that this inn is sub-par enough to have let the water go cold. 

“Sylvain,” Dimitri calls weakly. “Come back...” 

“I’ve got you.” Sylvain slips back into the room, and stops when he sees that Dimitri has inched his briefs down enough to pull out his cock, which rests achingly against his stomach as he fights to control his breathing. 

Something tight begins coiling in Sylvain’s chest, a disarming hunger that makes him shake. Dimitri is huge, the head of his cock flushed dark and leaking, his girth so impressive that all Sylvain can do is stare in mute shock as his brain tries to catch up.

When Dimitri meets his eye, he shudders and turns away, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. 

_Get it together._ “Hey,” Sylvain says, almost cooing as he approaches the bedside. “It’s all right. Does that feel better?” 

Dimitri nods. His hips twitch, and the reserve he’s showing in not touching himself is a feat of gods. 

“Here.” Sylvain sets the cool washrag against his forehead, and Dimitri sighs at the contact, tilting his head into the touch. “Since you can’t think about mountains right now,” he adds with a smile. “Can’t really blame you.” 

Dimitri’s hand hovers above his erection; Sylvain has never seen someone look so tortured. “I need to…” 

“To touch yourself? It’ll help.” Sylvain swipes the cold rag along the other’s forehead, wetting his overgrown bangs. Dimitri’s face is burning hot, his need eating away at his embarrassment until all he can do is stare pleadingly up at him. Sylvain gazes down, tilting his head with a fox’s smile. “Are you asking for my permission?” 

“Yes.” Dimitri’s throat bobs in a swallow. “Please.” 

_Gods, whoever gets you is a lucky fucker._

Sylvain wets his lips without thinking, and runs the rag down the side of Dimitri’s neck, making him whimper. “Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Touch yourself.” 

The relief is like a whip crack on the air. Sylvain watches, stunned, as Dimitri licks a stripe down his palm like an animal and wraps it around himself, arching up into his own touch with such enthusiasm that his back makes a perfect bowstring. Suddenly dizzy, Sylvain lets out a tremulous exhale and runs the rag over the other’s throat. “There you go. Make yourself feel better.” 

Dimitri’s mouth drops open, silent and adoring as he strokes himself. His hazy eye closes, and Sylvain watches his lips tremble, his tongue so soft and pliant and right there…

“You look like you’re thinking about something nice,” he says, his voice low and hot as desire curls in his belly. 

Dimitri gives a dazed nod and presses his face into the pillow. A wayward moan slips from the corner of his mouth, and Sylvain smiles—if he likes being talked to, he’s more than happy to provide. 

“I wonder what it is,” he coos. “What does Dimitri think about when he touches himself like this?” He hums in thought, and even as Dimitri curls in embarrassment, he keeps at it, breathing in short grunts as Sylvain strokes his wet hair away from his forehead. “I think I have an idea. Want to hear it?” 

Dimitri opens his eye and nods, and the sight of him makes all the blood in Sylvain’s head rush down and away, pooling achingly between his legs: supplicant, completely trusting as he waits for Sylvain to speak, his hips rolling in clumsy time with each eager pass of his hand. 

_Wow._ Another wicked grin, and Sylvain leans in closer to purr, “I see how you look at Byleth.” 

Even just the sound of her name has Dimitri moaning—the guy is _whipped._

“Not that I can blame you. She’s hot.” Sylvain allows himself a breathy little laugh. “Although I guess if it’s you we’re talking about, you’d prefer ‘beautiful.’ ‘Divine.’” 

Dimitri lets out an indignant scoff, but the sweet gasp he gives when Sylvain cups his cheek with the cold rag dulls the effect right away. 

“So many things you could think about with a body like hers. Let me see…you’re too shy to think about fucking her face, aren’t you? Pulling her hair and shoving your cock in her mouth—” 

Dimitri’s frustrated whine is as good an answer as it gets. 

“You’re a better man than I am,” Sylvain says fondly. “Hm...oh, I bet you think about eating her out all the time, don’t you? That seems more your style.” 

There it is—Dimitri shudders on a groan, turning his face to press against Sylvain’s side in an attempt to muffle it. The contact is somehow more intimate than watching Dimitri’s hand moving along his cock, and Sylvain swallows around something skittish that rises up in him. _Going to have to unpack that one later, huh!_

“Looks like I’m right,” he murmurs, and there’s a tremor in his voice now as he imagines Dimitri’s tongue being put to good use, the eager sounds he’d make buried between Byleth’s plush thighs. His hand impulsively flexes in its hold of Dimitri’s hair. “You’ve never done that before, have you? Girls go crazy for it. I think even our stoic professor wouldn’t be able to keep quiet with you licking her clit—” 

“Sylvain,” Dimitri gasps out, writhing on the sheets like a dying man as he fucks himself. “Please.” 

“You like that?” He marvels up close at how Dimitri, in spite of his burning bashfulness, nods, mouths something agreeing as his hips jerk up into his hand. “Thinking about getting her nice and warmed up with your tongue? Holding her legs open so she can’t move...”

This was supposed to be a favor, one friend to another, but Sylvain feels himself cracking. His cock strains painfully in his pants, hidden away and untouched, but somehow just watching Dimitri is enough: his free hand reaching down to cup his balls, the strong muscles of his thighs going tight, the head of his cock leaking onto his fist as he starts to lose himself. 

“You’d look so fucking good,” Sylvain breathes out, and has to shift to keep his erection from pressing against the side of Dimitri’s arm. “Holding her down and p-pounding into her wet little cunt—”

Near tears, Dimitri turns his face into Sylvain’s side to muffle a panicked cry that tells Sylvain he’s close.

“What I wouldn’t fucking give to see that.” Shivering, Sylvain hovers over him and watches the blood rise in Dimitri’s chest, flushing him pink all over. His hand rises to cup Dimitri’s jaw, holding his mouth open. “Would you let me watch, Dima?” 

The words come out unplanned, but Dimitri comes with an agonized shout, flooding over his fist and onto his stomach in great, trembling waves. The force of it has him curling tightly against Sylvain’s side, like something more fragile than he is—and in a moment’s unspeakable tenderness, Sylvain wraps his arms around his body, holds him through the tremors as the fever breaks. 

As Dimitri’s whimpers subside, Sylvain draws his attention away from the ache between his legs and focuses on the blond crown of the other’s hair, briefly presses his face into it when it looks like Dimitri won’t protest. He smells good, feels good in his arms. The feeling that turns over in Sylvain’s chest at that realization is alarming. _Bad timing._

Sylvain breathes in deep, steadies himself as best he can. Just one more thing to mull over when the sun goes down.

“Sylvain…” Dimitri lifts his head, and his eye shines with earnest confusion. “What…” 

“Hey, big guy.” A bright smile, a brighter voice, _nothing out of the ordinary_. “Feel better?”

Dimitri’s mouth opens and closes in silent awe. He lets Sylvain clean up his belly with the rag, too exhausted to be shy. 

“The rest of it should wear off soon,” Sylvain says, thinking about numbers, the flow of time, anything but the pretty slate of Dimitri’s stomach twitching under the wet rag. “It’ll be like this never even happened.” 

But Dimitri just gazes up at him, and when his hand shakily comes to rest on Sylvain’s thigh, his stare shifting to his visible erection, there’s a spark in the air so sudden that Sylvain almost jumps out of his skin. He curls his hand around Dimitri’s with a laugh and a shake of his head, even as his heart pounds hard in his ears. “Hey, no, no, no. Don’t you worry about that. Shit happens, right?” 

Dimitri gives an uncertain nod, but stays silent, watching him. 

“I’ve just got too much testosterone in me,” Sylvain brags, anything to break the tension. “If you press on me it wells up like dew. Just leaks right on out.” 

But Dimitri doesn’t take the bait. He stares up at him for a few quiet moments, then lets his eye close. “You say strange things, Sylvain…” 

“I’m not good at much, but I’m good at that.” Sylvain extricates himself from around Dimitri’s sleepy body; his legs feel like water, liable to give out at any second. “Get some sleep, okay? We’re in no hurry.” 

Dimitri protests weakly, but he doesn’t move when Sylvain pulls the covers over him. He’s asleep within minutes, just a sprawl of golden hair and a slow rise and fall of breath. 

Sylvain watches him for what feels like years, before sucking in a breath and slinking off to the bathroom, finally alone. 


End file.
